


physical therapy

by ohwhatagloomyshow



Category: Lunar Chronicles - Marissa Meyer
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6673444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwhatagloomyshow/pseuds/ohwhatagloomyshow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cinder.” His breath was hot against her lips, and it made her smile to feel his frown on her skin—they kissed again. “Cinder, I should go.”</p><p>set after "winter."</p>
            </blockquote>





	physical therapy

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this THE NIGHT i finished the series and that was....quite some time ago. i meant to make it a series of our heroines Doing It for the first time but this is the only one i finished--i'll probably go back and finish what i started once i reread the series, which may actually be soon! i love this series. i love these characters. i just want them all to orgasm.

_Two days. His ship will be leaving in just two days._

The thought only came to her, thank the stars, when his lips parted from hers—which, for the last forty-seven minutes, had been only a few times—but as they approached one in the morning, Lunar time, those thoughts came on more and more.

“Cinder.” His breath was hot against her lips, and it made her smile to feel his frown on her skin—they kissed again. “Cinder, I should go.”

“No, you really shouldn’t,” she grinned, clutching tighter to his shirt, keeping his chest against hers. He offered very little resistance, and for three whole minutes he stayed without comment.

“I really should.” This was more definitive as he lifted himself from her, leaning on his right elbow to gaze down at her. The starlight illuminated her newly-polished hand, and from its gleam she could just make out his half-smile.

“Why?” As if in response, they both yawned at the same time. When her chest moved, it highlighted the tightness of the stitches at her collarbone: not painful, but very much _there._

He caught her look of discomfort, and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead as a parting caress. “It’s late, and I don’t want to wear you out.”

She grinned, wishing she could blush. “Wear me out with _what_ , exactly?”

His responding kisses were long, lingering things, and they stayed wrapped around each other for another eleven minutes.

They paused for a moment, just a moment to catch their breath, and Cinder whispered, “Please stay with me.”

And he said, “I will.”

It was strange how that, it seemed, was that: there were no more logical interruptions from Kai, even when their lips separated to yawn, even as her clock told her it was nearly 2:30 in the morning. He stayed in her bed, sometimes lying on his side and sometimes hovering just above her, and kissed her lips, her cheek, her neck, her collarbones. She wanted to return the favor but, with her still-healing heart, he didn’t want her to move her upper body more than she had to.

He had long stopped flinching at the coldness of her left hand: always a few degrees cooler than the rest of her body, he didn’t even shiver as her fingers snuck under his shirt, as her heavy hand pressed against his spine. Sometimes she would yawn, or even sneeze, and he would take that moment to find her titanium hand and bring it to his mouth. He kissed her palm, the tips of her fingers—she desperately wished she could feel his lips against her, but a twinge of electricity shot through her wires every time his mouth touched her, and she figured that was better than nothing.

It was so strange and so _wonderful_ to feel this subtly alive. Perhaps it was the last remnants of the painkillers they had her on, or perhaps it was the exhausting combination of foreign politics and physical therapy in the same day, or perhaps even a nice mix of all three, but these kisses, these caresses, did not light her on fire as the earlier kisses had—as the kisses just this afternoon had. This was so much softer, so much _kinder_ to her body. She felt her heart beat and it was good; her nerves were alive but they did not tingle, and it was good. She was good. _He_ was good.

 _Stars_ , was he good. He was gentle, he was so gentle, and knew just how to surprise her by taking her bottom lip between his teeth, her _tongue_ between his teeth when she began to slack, or become distracted. That light roughness would send shivers down her entire body, concentrating at the meeting of her thighs, and it always made her smile. And he would smile, too, and sometimes he would brush his lips against her cheek, her jaw, and would lightly suck on the soft skin of her neck—not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make her toes curl, enough to make her startle herself as a soft moan came from her throat.

“I want to keep kissing you,” he said, moving around her shoulder, around her right collarbone. “Can I keep kissing you, Cinder?”

“Yes,” and _now_ her body began to spark, because she knew he was done with her mouth for the moment. His hands slipped up her shirt, preparing to slip the material over her chest and head, but she surprised herself by interrupting him, her hands on his wrists. “Can we—keep my shirt on? The bandages—“ How to explain it? How to explain she just felt better with the shirt on while the scar on her chest was still violent, the stitches still swelling her skin?

But she did not have to explain as he took his fingers away from the cloth of her shirt, instead curving his right hand around her ribcage and his left hand around her naked breast. She gasped as he found her nipple, gasped as she felt it harden. He laughed a little at this, and kissed her nipple over her shirt, just a suggestion. She sighed; it was like a dream as his hand continued to play while his mouth brushed around her bellybutton, her hips.

“Please.” And then, afraid that the murmur hadn’t gone past her throat, her lips, afraid that it had been lost in the darkness of the room—“Pl-please,” a weak but significantly louder whisper, as she carefully arched her back. She hoped she wouldn’t have to explain, that he would just understand—

And he did. He only got as far as hooking his fingers into the waistband of her pants before she spoke again, and he stifled a laugh. Her brain was quick to bring up her last few showers, the last few times she had simply glanced down at her body: she had never needed to manage the hair at her hips before, and she knew it was long and curly, knew it would be a hassle. And her last shower had been yesterday, and that had been _so many hours ago_ —she needed time to get herself ready for him. “Wait! It’s—I mean, I haven’t—I didn’t think or— _prepare_ —and I want you to—“

“Cinder.” He could just imagine how red her face would have been. He kissed to the right of her bellybutton, and she giggled at the sudden touch. “I love you. Now, please let me continue undressing you, because I have been thinking about this for a _long_ time.” 

She giggled again, for a hundred different reasons, her heart in her throat. She wanted to refuse, ask if they could wait just another night for this, where she could be showered and groomed and soft and prepped and _ready_ , but her body was humming now, almost painfully so. It had started at her breast and as his mouth had warmed her stomach, it had made its way to the parting of her thighs. As perfect as it would have been to wait, to prepare, she wanted to die if she let herself wait another minute. So she found the strength to nod, making a soft “mh-mhm” noise in her throat that was most likely drowned out by the sound of her hair brushing against her pillow. She wondered, briefly, how many times he had done this, how many women he had seen and _known_ —that’s how the stories always put it—but forced herself to stop that train of thought before it went much farther, knowing it would only end with a lump in her throat and a year’s supply of self-hate and embarrassment.

He would be her first, and as silly as it was, she wanted to be his first, too.

She gasped a bit at the chilliness of the room; he had slipped off her cotton pants and underwear in one smooth movement, and gooseflesh raised along her right leg. He laughed very lightly as he ran his palm over her thighs, feeling the raised, shivering skin.

“Just one thing,” he said, and it was hard to focus over her lust, “Well, I guess two things. I’ve never, ah—I’ve never done this before so, I’m sorry? If this isn’t up to par?” She could feel his blush as he rested his cheek against her inner thigh. “And, most importantly, if it is good—please don’t accidentally crush me with your titanium leg?”

She laughed and did not notice when the laughter turned to moaning. She exploded as his tongue connected with her skin; her hips rocked and she startled herself when, mid movement, she realized her left leg had placed itself across his back without her awareness. She _did_ have to be careful about her leg, and the moaning turned back to laughter turned back to moaning.

_Testosterone._

_Adrenaline._

It should have bothered her, it should have _jarred_ her. But the text just floated up into all the stars she saw, stars she knew were real and stars she knew were imaginary.

Because he knew what he was doing. His tongue traced careful circles around her clitoris, between her labia. He sucked and tugged gently, and those were the moments when she lost control, her leg notching itself around his back, his neck. It was tricky—it was fun—it was so many things to feel his mouth and control her body and learn the pleasure he could give her. 

_Phenyl ethylamine .Endorphins. Stars._

The only thing real was his tongue against her skin. And then his finger, just the index—she figured it _had_ to be the index, just before he curled it inside her and made her moan—gently inside her, in rhythm with his tongue. His second finger followed not long after, and he laughed softly. It startled her out of her body; he felt her jerk as she sat up just a bit.

“What?” Panicked.

“You’re so tight, I can’t move.” He said it matter-of-factly, with a prideful smirk across her face. It made her sigh, and relax, and laugh a little, until he began to shift his fingers and place his mouth back at her clitoris—then she moaned, her toes curling. His fingers were slow, then fast; she felt herself growing wetter. Her knees bent, tightened, and she panted softly. His tongue moved faster as his fingers slowed a bit. He sucked on her, and a guttural noise made its way out of her throat.

_Starsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsstarsst—KAI._

_Oxytocin._

_Oxytocin._

“Oxytocin.” She couldn’t know why she said it, couldn’t know _how_ she said it as her heart tried to shove its way out of her chest. Her entire body shivered and as she slowly returned to herself, Kai slowly made his way up to lay at her side, grinning madly as he settled to her right, draping a lazy arm across her stomach. He sighed, equally content, and she could smell herself on his breath. She was surprised that it wasn’t bad; she craned her neck and kissed him. Out of breath himself, he didn’t kiss her deeply, just pressed his lips to hers before sighing and settling his head against her shoulder.

“I love you, Cinder.”

Her arms curled around him as her toes searched for the blanket that was folded at the bottom of the bed; awkwardly she brought it to their hips, and he adjusted the soft cotton around her naked body. His hands were warm and gentle around her ribcage, and she loved the feel of his breath on her throat.

“I love you too, Kai.”


End file.
